


Teenage Shenanigans

by Accidental_Ducky



Category: The Mummy (1999)
Genre: SneakPeak Shenanigans AncientEgypt ImhotepsTheNewVoldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7121164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidental_Ducky/pseuds/Accidental_Ducky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“TheblackbookwasstolenfromLondon.”</p><p>“Say what now?”</p><p>“The…. T-the book was stolen from the London museum’s vault.” Clem lets out a heavy sigh, suddenly lightheaded as she thought over what that would mean. There’s only one book in the museum that would be in the vault and there was only one reason why they would take it at all. </p><p>Imhotep was coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teenage Shenanigans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psychedelicbubblegum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychedelicbubblegum/gifts).



The desert air was dry as Clementine Scott continued her digging, floppy white hat not stopping her cheeks from turning red in the constant heat. She wasn’t paying it any mind, her gaze focused entirely on digging up the remains of an old obelisk, the stone crumbling away closer to the base of it. The hieroglyphics weren’t entirely clear for her, the carved lines filled with sand, but she had a delicate brush in her kit that would allow her to clean it.

Egyptology has been her life since she was a little girl, though she could probably blame that on the fact that her family had a tendency to bring mummies back from the dead; well, technically it was the same mummy on two different occasions, but the point still stands. If another mummy rose from his tomb—or Imhotep decided to throw a rave somewhere—she would be there to take them down once and for all.

If her mum gave her permission.

It wasn’t until she felt a calloused hand on her shoulder that she realized someone had been trying to get her attention, muscles tensing until she turned her head and found the visitor. With dark blonde hair that hung slightly in front of hazel eyes, an athletic build, and skin that looked almost golden in the afternoon sunlight, it was easy for Clem to realize who the man is.

“Alex,” she laughs, launching herself upwards and wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug. Alexander O’Connell has been her best friend since he and his family moved back to London when they were kids, the pair of them sharing a love of Egypt and spending hours poring over old books in his parents’ attic. He was only a year and a half younger than her, but he was taller than she was even when she was wearing her boots that added an extra three inches to her height. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, you know how the professor is,” Alex says with his sideways grin,” always pulling his students out of the classroom whenever he can.” He shrugs as they pull apart, rubbing the back of his neck, the gesture as familiar as everything about him. “He just wanted someone to help you out that he trusts not to take advantage.” Even in 1944, the field was dominated by men and Clem spent half her time throwing rocks at them.

Literally.

“No tag along today?”

“Nah, Tuck’s helping to organize the museum and Dot’s still got classes this afternoon.” Tucker and Dorothea Henderson were Clem’s cousins on her mom’s side of the family, the very definition of stubborn Americans where their studies were concerned; Tucker, twenty like Clem, was steadily climbing through the ranks at the Cairo Museum of Antiquities and his little sister, only nineteen like Alex, was studying at the local college for a semester.

“I still can’t see why Tucker would rather pass his time in a stuffy museum instead of out here.” She gestures around them, including the miles of nothing except golden dunes and several white tents that held food and fresh water, places to rest when the heat became too much. “I mean, what could be better than literally digging up history?”

“Keeping history preserved?” He gives her a wink, looking exactly like his dad in that moment. “You know how he is, he’s been uneasy in the desert ever since that last incident where you-know-who kidnapped me and his sister.” Clem winces at the memory, knowing Alex had gone through a lot during that time, they all had; not only had Alex and Dot been taken by a mummy, but Evy—Alex’s mom—had been legally dead for two hours, Alex’s dad had nearly died, Tucker and Dot found out their ancestor had been Imhotep’s younger sister, _and_ Clem had nearly been thrown off a bridge when she tried to stop bodyguards from stealing her best friends.

“Or he’s afraid I’ll make him write all his reports in pink crayon.”

“Yeah, there is that.” They both shared a laugh at that, Alex’s low and husky as it has been since he turned fourteen, making Clem’s cheeks redden further. “So, anything interesting here?” She and Alex turn back to the obelisk, tilting their heads to the side in unison.

“We found this yesterday and have been working on and off since then, but Professor Brooks wants it dug all the way out, sketched, and photographed before we clean it off and begin to translate.” She heaves a sigh, brushing strands of dark hair off her face. “You know how uptight he is about this kind of stuff.”

“All too well.” She turns her gaze back to him, taking in the way he kept rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous habit, the tension in his broad shoulders, and the tic in his jaw. She hasn’t seen him this worked up since they started school and it did nothing to settle the nervous butterflies in her stomach.

“Why are you really here, Alex?” He freezes almost comically for a second, the deer in the headlights way he stared at her with wide eyes and his lips parted almost making her wish she had a camera with her. “Come on, I’m a big girl.” She puts her hands on her hips and raises her brows, a perfect imitation of her mother, and Alex reacts the same way everyone does when they have that look leveled at them. Floundering a second, Alex’s hands flail at his sides and he gives an unsure shrug before spilling.

“TheblackbookwasstolenfromLondon.”

“Say what now?”

“The…. T-the book was stolen from the London museum’s vault.” Clem lets out a heavy sigh, suddenly lightheaded as she thought over what that would mean. There’s only one book in the museum that would be in the vault and there was only one reason why they would take it at all.

Imhotep was coming back.

Her hand goes to the necklace around her throat, a relic from the roaring twenties that her mother had passed down to her when she announced she was leaving for Cairo for university. “How long have we got before _he_ rises again?”

“We have until the key is stolen from my house, but Mum and Dad are on red alert, so that won’t be easy.” That was the understatement of the century; if there was even a slim chance that Imhotep could be raised again, then the O’Connell and Henderson families would gather in one house with all the weapons they own plus enough snark to drive any sane person mad.

“Well then, let’s gather the troops and head back home.”

“A lot of shenanigans ahead of us.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Alex.”


End file.
